


Oh, But You're an Explosion (You're Dynamite)

by theprincelyclotpole



Series: Your Name Isn't Rio But I Don't Care for Sand [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: @Lin and the founding fathers: I'm sorry, Angst, Canon Era, Epistolary, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincelyclotpole/pseuds/theprincelyclotpole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I want for your company Laurens, more so than I care to admit. Forgive me this, for it is your fault for having instilled such deep desire for you in my heart.</i>
</p><p>A series of letters from Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, from their meeting in mid 1777 to mid 1778.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, But You're an Explosion (You're Dynamite)

**Author's Note:**

> These are written in formal, though not colonial, language. It is heavily inspired by actual history as well as by the musical _Hamilton_. Title taken from the song _I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor_ by the Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely beta reader and cheerleader, who you can find [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/artform_virtue/) on ao3 and [here](http://thoreaudysseus.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

_17th July, 1777_

Dear Mr. Laurens,

It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. Your ideals are admirable to say the least, and I find myself in reluctant awe of you, something which I do not often feel. As this war goes on, people with qualities such as yours become scarcer and scarcer, and as such the fate of our prospective nation (for I am confident that this war will be won in the interest of all justice) grows far darker.

In truth, there can be found some deep fault in the greater portion of the population, and yet I struggle to find any significant one with you, Mr. Laurens. I hope I do not come across as too forward, too _intense_ , when I say that you are without great issue. This is with the possible exception of your pugnacity, a trait which I regretfully share. Rest assured, I do not give out compliments lightly.

And yet I confess, I do not write for the sole purpose of stroking your ego, but also to humbly request that we meet again to discuss certain military affairs, the details of which I cannot specify in a letter for fear that they might fall into enemy hands. Write me, if you will, and we shall establish a place to meet which will be sufficiently private for such sensitive topics. Alas, there is little opportunity for privacy anywhere in this dreadful, God-forsaken place where I currently reside, that place where the dredges of society gather to peddle their most unsavory goods. It would perhaps be best to abandon any pretense of propriety and instead progress directly to the pub; upon entering you will no doubt find that the combined noise of the drunk and the rowdy will hide the content of our conversation far better than any shred of solitude.

I await your response with clenched teeth and bated breath, and I pray you to treat this with the utmost possible urgency.

Yours, and may God be with you,  
Alexander Hamilton

_8th August, 1777_

Dear Mr. Laurens,

I shall not bother with flattery in this letter and instead get directly to the point; as time is pressed, I will be as concise as I can in my words and speak with the most brevity that the subject will allow.

I am glad that our meeting yielded such promising results. The General Washington too has expressed hope at the nature of our discussion and decision, and requested of me that I organize another meeting between us. I am in full support of the idea.

In addition to the General, I have spoken with the Marquis de Lafayette, who has given me some advice on the matter—do not press it too greatly when speaking with those in power, or they will be far less inclined to provide us with support. I, with none of my usual eloquence, say to Hell with that; we must press the issue ardently or lose any chance of success. Your thoughts are much awaited.

Urgent as always,  
A. Hamilton

_11th August, 1777_

Laurens,

I write not with military planning but instead with _you_ in mind. You have proven yourself, time and time again, to be a great man. Since I last wrote you, only a few short days ago, the other men at camp have told me that I talk about you a great deal. My response was, of course, that I talk about everything a great deal, but I cannot now stop wondering if I talk about you more.

If I do, I cannot be blamed, for you have certainly merited any praise directed toward you and more. The Marquis informs me that I act like an adolescent girl, but he is prone to exaggeration and so you should pay him no heed, at least not in the respect of my emotions. Indeed, the only reason I include his words are in the case that he sends them first, so that you do not get the notion that I am given to things best not spoken of.

If you were to get that idea, however, I would not be surprised. I am not blind; I know that there are rumors, I know the reason why rooms suddenly go quiet when I enter. I know that others whisper about me, about how I might have gotten such prestigious command at so young an age.

Why do I write you? There are no pressing matters we must speak of. I believe it is just for want of you, though I can scarcely understand how well I wish to hear your voice again. I want for your company, Laurens, more so than I care to admit. Forgive me this, for it is your fault for having instilled such deep desire for you in my heart.

Yours,  
A. Hamilton

_9th October, 1777_

Laurens,

It was lovely to have you on the base, after so long apart. Ever since you left, I fear I have fallen into some deep sadness, the intensity of which I had not predicted. In simple terms, Laurens, I miss you keenly. If you can be moved by my sentiments, return to me as soon as you possibly can. I grow lonely without you here.

The others have grown concerned about me in the time since you left. My motivation has faltered. Not entirely left, but faltered. I care greatly for you. Please, if you can, come back to the camp. Come back to _me_.

Yours,  
A. Ham

_21st October, 1777_

Dearest Laurens,

There is a pressing discussion on our backs, one which I am quite desperate to have. Seek me out, and we will do so. In the meantime I write you, although you are at camp with me.

There is a tension between us. It has been remarked upon numerous times by Lafayette, by Mulligan. It crackles, nearly palpably from my end, and I know you feel it to. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you look at me. It is the same way I look at you.

I want you more than I can possibly express. I long for a more intimate friendship between us, of the sort that transverses the bonds of platonic love. Desire is something that I can hardly restrain myself from, however much easier it would make things for the both of us.

Consider my words, Laurens. Come to meet me.

As always, I am yours  
Alex Hamilton

_2nd November, 1777_

Dear John,

Is sodomy truly a sin?

– Alexander

_30th November, 1777_

John,

Won’t you join me tonight? I know my advances were not unwelcome, as you have very well proved to me on various occasions. I cannot stop thinking about your lips, about how they feel on mine, about how they feel on _other_ parts of me… I crave you.

My dearest John, these feelings inside me are those of pure, unadulterated love. There, I have said it now; I love you. And as we generally indulge those we love, I will allow you to have all of me, should you want it. I pray you do, and I think these prayers shall be answered. You seemed desirous of such acts last time we met, so I would do better to hope that you have not had a sudden change of heart.

Dear God, John, if this is what sinning is then I never want to stop.

Yours _in perpetuum_ ,  
Alexander

_12th December, 1777_

John,

I love you, I love you, I love you. I cannot say it enough. Every moment you are gone it is as if I am being stabbed, painful and unexpected. And when you are with me I am euphoric. As I write this you are speaking with General Washington, and I am in my tent, stroking myself. What I wouldn’t give for you to be here doing it for me… my thoughts, dearest, are only of you, of your soft hair, of your smooth skin, of your voice when you call out my name.

This letter may be inadvisable, but at this point I am much too far gone to care. John, your name falls from my lips now, but you are not here to hear it. When you are alone, do you think of me? Tell me you do.

If you were here, I doubt you would be clothed. Have I ever told you that the only time you look better than when you are in your uniform (which fits you beautifully, and sets off your eyes) is when you are _out of it_ , laying across my bed, begging for my touch. You flush so prettily when you are aroused, as if it is simmering under your skin. I know it is simmering under mine. Please John, come to me, come _for_ me as you read this letter.

I want you terribly,  
Alexander

_23rd December, 1777_

My Dear John,

As the winter grows colder, my heart grows warmer. You have moved me terribly. Reading over my previous letters, I am incredibly thankful that it is improper to read someone's private correspondence. Otherwise, I suppose we would both be on trial.

You are constantly on my mind, dearest. As I write, thoughts of coming back to you after I finish allow me to do so sooner. As I battle, I stay alive for the hope that I will later see your face.

I long for you, and at the same time I wish dearly that you had not stolen my heart. This should not cause you worry—I do not regret a moment—but it would mean less pain for the both of us had we not begun this.

When will you return to me? Already I am forgetting the scent of your hair, the precise timbre of your voice. My birthday is in nineteen days, and Christmas is in only two. I want to be with you on at least one of these occasions, want to hold you, want to kiss you. I am desperate.

Anxiously awaiting your return,  
Alexander

_11th January, 1778_

John,

You have missed both days mentioned in my last letter, and not only that, but you have failed to write. I am forced to draw the conclusion that you do not wish to speak with me.

I am selfish, John. I feel that I must hear you say my name at least once more. Please.

Hercules has commented on my ghastliness. I am, he says, as a shade walking on this earth when deprived of your presence. I work myself to the bone in an effort to distract myself from your absence, toiling day and night. I have not slept these past three days; even the other aides have begun to take notice.

If you would lower yourself to speak to me once more, I would be eternally grateful.

Yours, unless you decide otherwise,  
Alexander

_18th January, 1778_

John,

Your last letter was surprising, to say the least. I have never known you to even tease with innuendo in your writing, much less be so outright with your desires. It was a very _pleasant_ letter to receive.

I have not stopped thinking about it since it arrived. How it would feel to have you bend me over my writing desk and take what you like, how it would feel afterwards to be marked as _yours_. For my sake, I hope you are willing to make good on your words.

There are more serious matters to discuss. When you come back you will find severe lack of supplies, and those that we do have are of little quality. It brings bad memories to the forefront of my mind. I write not only to ask you to come here, but also to ask you to bring any provisions you can.

Do you know, my dear J, that it is snowing here? You are so far away, in the south, but here it is cold. I am chilled straight through to the bone, but I am better off than many. The footsoldiers do not even have jackets most of the time, let alone blankets. I am lucky enough to have both.

Yours,  
Alexander

_26th January, 1778_

John, 

I can hardly feel my fingers wrapped around this pen. I finished General Washington’s letters a day early and there is nothing for me tomorrow, making it a day of leisure. Yet I cannot fully enjoy it, not when the temperature is so cold that most of the men are frostbitten, and the wind bites at our skin. I, as well as the other aides—and of course, the General—have managed to avoid the worst of the frostbite and hypothermia, but there is not a man here who remains unaffected. I miss you, but I am glad that you needn’t endure this biting chill.

I don’t recall whether I’ve ever told you how beautiful you are. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but all I feel is a keen loss. I miss your eyes.

Write me, my love. I hear the calling of a bird now, a carrier pigeon, I believe. I know it is silly, but I cannot help but come up with fanciful scenarios where it has a letter from you. After so long apart, I need your touch, and if I cannot have that I need your words.

Yours,  
Alexander

_14th February, 1778_

John,

It is Saint Valentine’s Day. I want you here with me.

I love you,  
Alexander

_1st March, 1778_

Laurens,

As I write this, you are lying on your bed in our tent, asleep. I say _your_ bed, and not _ours_ , because since you have arrived back you have been removed from me. You have not once called me by my given name, and so I shall not deign to call you by yours. 

Why are you being so distant? I do not think that I’ve done anything to drive you away, but then, I am not the best at restraining myself from hurting those who I care about. And I do care about you, Laurens.

You are stirring now, and I want nothing more than to hold you. I fear that if I am with you when you wake up, I will be tossed aside as if I am no more than a common whore, a young soldier whose affections you stole by accident when seeking physical attention, and whose feelings you must now extricate yourself from. I assure you that they will not be so easily gotten rid of. 

It hurts me to see you lying on the bed, so plagued by nightmares that I cannot save you from, not if you continue to push me away. Do you remember when we used to lie together, stroking each other’s hair? You had nightmares then too, but I was able to soothe you, and now I have no such power.

I do not know if I will give you this letter. Perhaps I will burn it, keep you from knowing how much this hurts me. Lord only knows that I have only kept from tears by the barest thread of self control. 

Please do not leave me like this. I’m so sorry, Laurens. John.

Sincerely yours,  
A. Hamilton

_5th March, 1778_

Laurens,

I have failed to burn my last letter and instead put it where you could find it. I am unsure whether this was a good decision, but I stand by it. I need you to know with absolute certainty how I feel, and so I will endeavor to be precise in the following letter, with none of the flowery language that I would otherwise employ:

I love you. Well, that is not entirely correct, but it is the most accurate word for my feelings. In fact, they are more intense than love, and I burn with a fierce longing for you. Those are the simplest terms I can possibly put them in, although I could easily write poem upon poem about you, and indeed on some occasions I have.

Best wishes,  
Your loving Alexander

_30th March, 1778_

John,

I am very sorry for any inconvenience that I may have caused you. Since you have not replied to my latest two letters, I must take it as an indication that you no longer wish to be with me. I cannot truthfully say that I blame you.

I should have known that we couldn’t last. No, if the word got out that we were engaging in such _indecent_ acts, your career (and mine, though my appetite for success is most certainly a major folly and I have been trying to focus on the wellbeing of others’ careers) would have been ruined. I have seen it happen often enough for less serious crimes.

I will not write you again.

Your obedient,  
A. Hamilton

_16th May, 1778_

John,

I know that I promised I would stop writing to you, but I am very drunk, and the prospect of meeting with you seems very appealing. How am I to keep from writing you when you are back at the base, when I see you every day? It is impressive in and of itself that I managed to hold back for a full month.

I want to taste you John, to touch you, to fill your senses until the only thing you can remember how to say is my name. I need this one night with you.

Do you recall the night that I first kissed you? It was electric. You took me apart after that, piece by piece, and then you put me back together until I was a writhing mess, begging for anything you could give me. That is something I must experience again, before the week is up.

I am ill-advised in writing this letter, I am sure. Bear with your drunken Alexander, for I have never been able to hold my alcohol. Meet me as soon as you can John, and I will wait for you.

Forever yours,  
Alexander

_17th May, 1778_

Laurens,

I was surprised and worried to find out that I sent you a letter last night, having been out of my mind with alcohol. I pray that I didn’t send you anything that would put you in a difficult or uncomfortable situation.

Please accept my gravest apologies for any discomfort I may have caused you. Feel no pressure to do anything you do not wish to do.

Yours,  
Alexander Hamilton

_27th May, 1778_

My dearest John,

Thank you for taking me back. Had I known that you still wanted to be with me, I would never have left. It nearly tore me apart.

I love you as I have loved no other, and maybe, just maybe, you feel the same. You are pressed up against me now, possibly asleep. Possibly awake, reading this. I do not mind either way, just to be with you… it makes my heart race and my chest hurt with the knowledge that one day this will end, either by our own decision or by divine providence. 

Reminiscing back on when we first met, I realize that this development in our relationship was nigh inevitable. We have been drawn to each other from the very start, two magnetic forces, pulled together. No matter how other events had played out, it was certain that we would find ourselves together.

Your hair is so soft, John. Like your heart. Sometimes I worry that you are too kind for your own good, but I love you all the more for it.

It has been made clear to me that you were asleep before, for you are stirring awake now, and I am putting down my pen in order to make up for the time lost over the past few months.

If all goes well, I will have no need to put pen to paper for your benefit again, because we will be together. I implore you to help me make this the case, but in the meantime we shall make the most of what time we have.

Love,  
Your Alexander

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on tumblr [here](http://laffayettes.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Comments are treasured, so what I'm trying to say here is please comment if you have anything to say because I like attention and also I want to know what you liked/didn't like. ♥


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